


What (Not) To Wear

by aschicca



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, Mild Kink, Spanking, post-513
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-19
Updated: 2011-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aschicca/pseuds/aschicca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin likes it when he wears Brian’s clothes, Brian doesn’t. Or does he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What (Not) To Wear

The first time it happens, it takes Brian completely by surprise. It’s an early Saturday morning, and he’s sitting on a stool in front of the kitchen counter, drinking coffee and reading the paper, when Justin comes rushing down from the bedroom stairs mumbling, “Shit, I promised Deb I’d take a double shift at the diner and I’m late,” grabs a banana, kisses Brian on the lips, then runs out of the door.

Leaving Brian with the distinct impression to have just witnessed his own v-neck, tight fitting and long-sleeved, black sweater running out of the door without him. But it can’t be, can it? No. It can’t be. Brian dismisses that thought as easily as he would yesterday’s fuck, and forgets all about it.

That’s why, later that morning, when Brian’s sitting in a booth at the diner waiting for Justin to take his break and eat something with him, the sight of what Justin’s wearing – and fuck if that _isn’t_ Brian’s black sweater – is a complete and utter shock.

The little shit has the nerve to stop calmly in front of Brian’s booth, smiling down at him, and say, “I’m sorry, Brian. Things are nuts today, I don’t think I’ll be able to take a break for a half an hour still. Do you want to start eating without me?”

Brian’s answer is to stare at his own fucking sweater, hanging loosely down Justin’s shoulders. The sleeves are rolled up Justin’s forearms, and there’s a distinct stain of a better-not-identified _something_ near the collar. Brian’s stare turns into a glare.

“Brian? I know I said we would eat together, but there’s no reason to look at me like that only because I have to work!”

“What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Wearing?” To his credit, Brian did manage to say all that without spitting fire.

“Uh? Oh, you mean your sweater? All of mine needed to be washed so I took one of yours. Not to mention, I love the feeling of something that belongs to you on my skin all day. It’s hot. Almost like foreplay.” And then he smiles. He turns on his fucking megawatt smile and Brian realizes the big part of his anger has already evaporated.

Maybe it's because seeing something that belongs to him on _someone_ who belongs to him, as lesbionic as this might be, is doing funny things to his cock, but right there and then Brian decides he doesn’t give a shit if Justin is wearing his sweater. His expensive sweater. His expensive sweater, now possibly hopelessly ruined. Shit.

“You better save up enough money to pay the cleaning bill, twat.”

***

The second time it happened, it was two weeks after the “black sweater incident.” Brian was standing half naked in front of his closet, looking for his red shirt. A red shirt that seemed to have vanished. Of course that one wasn’t the only red shirt Brian owned, but it was the only one with a particular shade of red that, if worn under his charcoal suit, emphasized its color and design, making Brian look hotter than ever. Or at least that was what Justin had said the last time Brian had worn that suit with that shirt.

Frustration starting to get the better of him, Brian couldn’t decide if he’d rather call the police and report the thievery of one fucking shirt, throw all his clothes out of the closet just for the sake of it, or call Justin to force him to come home and find his red shirt. Why the fuck had the lad gone out so early that morning, anyway? Oh yeah, appointment with a gallery owner to discuss a showing of his paintings.

The loud noise of the loft door startled Brian, and he peeked from the bedroom to see who was there. What he saw was not what he had expected.

Justin.

Justin, wearing _Brian’s_ fucking missing red shirt, open on his chest to reveal a black T-Shirt underneath, and fretting over his desk trying to find something he had supposedly forgotten.

Justin sensed Brian’s stare and raised his head from his desk to smile at him. “I was halfway to the gallery before I realized I’d forgotten to take one of my latest sketches with me. You know the one I want to turn into a painting sometime soon? I want to show it to the guy and see if he’ll be interested in it, so here I am. What are you doing still undressed? Don’t you have a meeting this morning too?”

“Yes, I do have a meeting. But you see, _someone_ took my fucking shirt without telling me and I spent the past half an hour looking for it in my fucking closet!”

“Don’t you have, like, a million of other red shirts in your closet? Couldn’t you have worn one of those instead of wasting time looking for a particular one? Seriously Brian, sometimes you amaze me.”

And with that, the smirking little shit ran back out of the door, leaving an outraged, open-mouthed Brian behind.

Of course, Justin knew he had a price to pay for that. So, when that night Brian held him for a long time lying sideways on his knees, while he spanked him until his ass took the exact same color of the red shirt he had stolen that morning… Justin didn’t really feel like he was in a position to complain. Not that he would have thought to complain anyway.

***

The third time it happened, it was in front of witnesses. Brian and Justin were meeting the boys at Babylon that night, but Brian had to stay a little late at Kinnetik to finish some work, so he had called Justin to tell him to go ahead, that he would meet him later at the club.

When Brian arrived, Michael and Ben were leaning against the bar, talking with Ted and Blake, while Emmett and Justin were nowhere in sight. Brian joined his friends at the bar, ordered a beer and scanned the crowd pretending not to be looking for Justin.

After a brief while, Emmett joined them and, looking pointedly at Brian, said, “My my, Justin really looks gorgeous tonight! I’ve been dancing with him and I felt invisible… all eyes are on him. Aren’t you a lucky one?”

Brian just smirked, and was about to ask Emmett to point him in the direction of what was apparently that night’s attraction at Babylon, when he saw him. Justin was dancing alone, even if he had at least five guys circling him, and, Brian had to admit it, Emmett was right. He looked hot.

Which to be honest shouldn’t have been so surprising since Justin was once again wearing one of Brian’s shirts. This time it was the black sheer button down shirt with opaque squares, and his chest was naked underneath; that was the same shirt Brian remembered seeing on Justin – stolen that time too – when the lad was still only seventeen, and Brian had made the mistake of asking him to move in when his father had kicked him out for being queer.

Shaking his head, Brian made his way to his partner and the crowd seemed to sense his approach because it parted in front of him. Hugging Justin from behind, Brian whispered in his ear, “That’s my shirt, twat.”

Justin smiled, turning in Brian’s arms to face him, and replied with his mouth on Brian’s, “What are you going to do about it?”

Not even five minutes after that, Justin found himself face first to one of the walls in the backroom. He was completely naked, but for Brian’s shirt, and he could feel Brian’s leather covered cock pressing insistently on his bare ass. Brian was rubbing himself on Justin, driving him crazy.

“Fuck me, Brian.”

“And what if I don’t? What if this is your punishment for stealing my clothes again?”

“I’d rather you punish me with your dick.”

“Ah, but you’re not the one in charge here, are you? What if I want to keep you like this all night? With your ass naked, your cock hard and nothing but the feeling of my shirt and my leather pants on you… what of it?”

Justin’s breath was ragged and he was humping the air, desperate for more, desperate for Brian. “Please… Brian… please?”

The sound of the zip was heaven in Justin’s ears and, just before Brian’s cock finally entered him, Justin thought what a hot sight they were offering to the backroom’s crowd that night: one practically naked, if not for a shirt that didn’t hide much, and the other completely dressed, his cock barely visible out of his pants. Judging from the gasps and moans coming from the voyeurs, he wasn’t the only one thinking that.

All coherent thoughts left Justin’s mind after that, but he would have been surprised to find out that it wasn’t the same for Brian. While he thrust hard inside Justin’s willing body, in fact, Brian found himself thinking how intoxicating it was seeing Justin wearing only _him_. Brian’s shirt on his chest, Brian’s pants marking his ass, Brian’s cock inside.

“This shirt you can keep, Sunshine.”

***

The fourth time it happened, it was kinda funny. Brian had just concluded a brilliant presentation and had landed another big account that afternoon, so he had decided to leave work early and drop by Justin’s studio.

Brian used his own key and let himself in, smirking when he spotted Justin shaking his hips at the music coming out of the earphones he wore, while he painted another one of his masterpieces. The smirk threatened to turn into a glare when Brian realized that Justin was wearing one of his own plain white T-Shirts, especially when he got closer and could clearly discern large stains of paint all over it.

Rolling his eyes, Brian planted himself right in front of Justin making him almost jump out of his skin.

“Jesus, Brian,” Justin said, removing his earphones. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Don’t you have clothes of your own, Sonny boy?” Brian replied, looking straight to a big blue spot in the center of _his own_ white tee.

“I like yours better. And I wanted to paint you today, so I needed the inspiration.” Justin was smiling, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“And what exactly did my, now good only to be trashed, T-shirt inspire you?”

“I could tell you. Or, I could show you…”

Brian had to admit that the thought of another ruined piece of his clothing wasn’t that disturbing when Justin was kneeling in front of him, sucking his cock like his life depended on it.

Of course, he still had to see the spots of paint Justin’s hands had left on his suit when he had unbuttoned his pants…

***

The fifth time it happened, it wasn’t surprising. Not for him at least.

They had to be at Deb’s in less than 10 minutes and Justin still wasn’t home. Not that Debbie really expected them to arrive on time; they never did. But usually when they were late, it was because Brian had spent quite some time _inside_ Justin, not waiting for him.

“I’m sorry!” Were the first words out of Justin’s mouth when he finally came home. “I had to finish something at the studio and…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Cut the bullshit and go change. We’re already late, no need to give Debbie more reason to glare at me when we arrive. ‘Cause we all know it will be my fault, Deb’s wittle Sunshine can do no wrong.”

Justin laughed and reached up to kiss Brian’s pouting mouth, until a breathless – and not pouting anymore – Brian said, “You better stop that if you want to have dinner at Deb’s tonight.” Then he spanked Justin’s ass playfully and steered him in the direction of the bedroom.

“Oh and, Sunshine? Don’t bother looking in the closet for something to wear, I’ve already prepared a set of clothes for you on the bed. Just change and come downstairs. I’ll be waiting for you in the ‘vette.” And with that, Brian exited the loft.

Justin hurried up the stairs, ready to throw on whatever clothes Brian had chosen for him without even thinking, when the sight of one particular item on the bed stopped him dead in his tracks.

Laying beside Justin’s black jeans and light grey polo neck, there was Brian’s ribbed, dark grey zip up sweater. Justin approached the bed and had to sit down on it for a while and finger the sweater, a big smile on his face.

Only five minutes later, Justin opened the passenger’s door of the ‘vette and slid inside.

“Why?” He said pointing at the sweater he was wearing.

“Well, since it seems you’re going to wear my clothes anyway, I thought I might as well decide which ones you should wear and when. Of course, if I see on it a single spill of marinara sauce or whatever the fuck Deb’s cooking tonight, I’m reddening your ass.”

“Do you really think _that_ is the best way to keep me from spilling food on your clothes?”

Brian’s only reply was a sexy, throaty laugh.


End file.
